11
Kayla
Daren knows where the spare key is? Come on!
“How did you know that was there?” I say as we stand up.
He dusts off his hands and shrugs. “Your dad told me.”
I go to cross my arms, realize I can’t with our attached wrists, and settle for propping my free hand on my hip instead. “He just told you where the key to his million-dollar estate was buried?”
“Actually, he asked me to find a good place to hide it. So technically, I told him where it was buried.” He tilts his head with a smile. “Why do you look so angry?”
“I’m not angry.” I drop my hip hand and swallow back my jealousy. “I just find it hard to believe that he trusted you so much.”
His lips form a tight line. “That’s because you don’t know him as well as you thought.”
“Obviously.”
He shakes his head and mutters, “Whatever,” as he starts pulling us back through the yard and toward the front door. “Let’s just finish this.”
I stumble up the porch steps behind him—damn these high heels—and wait at his side as he sticks the silver key into the lock, then swings the door open.
Dust flurries float through the air, lit up by the sunlight spilling in from the doorway as we step inside.
The house smells the same as I remember. Like vanilla pipe tobacco and cherries. It’s a smell I associate solely with my father and for some reason my heart squeezes and my eyes begin to burn as I breathe it in. I close my eyes to keep the stinging at bay.
I can picture my father seated in his leather chair in the study, puffing on his old-fashioned Sherlock Holmes pipe while he leans back and reads one of his favorite books. Thin white swirls of smoke would lift out from the pipe and float up in the air until they disappeared into the tall ceiling. When I was seven, I remember giggling as he tried to blow out a perfect smoke ring for me. Being only a part-time pipe smoker, he was impossibly bad at smoke formations, but he tried anyway. The two of us ended up laughing as I sat in his lap on his leather chair with the scent of vanilla smoke teasing my nose.
“So.” Daren’s voice interrupts the memory and I open my eyes. “Where’s this suitcase closet?”
I shake off the nostalgia trying to cling to my skin and straighten my shoulders. “Over here.” I walk him through the living room and down the hall to a skinny door on the left. Then I open the closet.
Inside, several trench coats hang below a shelf of hats, and three old umbrellas stand propped up against the wall. And in the back, on the floor beneath the coats, is a blue suitcase.
“Jackpot!” Daren says with a smile.
I give him a disparaging look. “Jackpot? Really?”
His smile grows. “Oh, come on.” He rolls his eyes. “Don’t act like me saying ‘jackpot’ is tacky. You know you wanted to say something just as clever. Like ‘Eureka!’ or ‘Tallyho!’ ” He raises his fist in exaggerated glee with each exclamation.
I try to look annoyed, but a small smile tugs at my lips when he adds “Bingo!” with an especially exuberant expression. What a goofball.
“I knew it.” He points at my smile. “You like me.” He shows off his dimple and nods. “You think I’m obnoxious but you still like me. Do you want to kiss again?” He leans in and wiggles his eyebrows.
“Oh my God. You’re ridiculous.” I drop my smile but can’t help the warmth that spreads over my cheeks and down my body. Because a tiny part of me does want to kiss him again. It’s such a foreign feeling for me, wanting to kiss a guy. Yearning to touch him. And I’m not sure if I like it. It makes me feel out of control, like I can’t trust myself.
My eyes sweep over his mouth where his lips, so soft and warm against mine last night, curl into another playful grin, and my heart skips a beat.
Maybe I can’t.
“Can we just do this already?” I say.
“What, kiss? Or have sex?” He looks around. “The floor is kind of dirty but if you insist…” He reaches for the button of his pants.
“Ugh. I’m done talking to you.” I kneel on the floor.
His smile widens. “Oh so now you want to give me a blow job? Make up your mind, woman.”
“Shut up.” I aggressively yank his wrist down so he’s forced to kneel beside me, where we’re within reaching distance of the suitcase. “I’m down here for the suitcase, you idiot.” I can’t help but glance at his jeans, remembering how large he felt in my hand last night.
“Here, I’ll get it.” He drops the teasing attitude and reaches for the suitcase. As he stretches out his arms, his biceps flex and I trail my gaze up his shoulders and over his profile.
He’s built like a model. Lean and cut, with a chiseled jaw and long eyelashes. His mouth is large and masculine but his lips look soft and he smells good. Again. Like citrus.
He slides the suitcase from the closet and positions it by our knees. It’s an old piece of luggage, with a hard outer casing and a thick plastic handle. Tipping the suitcase up at an angle, he pops open the latches. The lid sticks a little at first, but after working at the seam for a moment, he’s able to coax it open with his long fingers.
Inside are three sealed envelopes. One with Daren’s name on it, one with my name on it, and one that reads TO YOU BOTH.
Daren and I lift out the envelopes labeled with our names and take turns opening them. We find a note from my father inside each one.
Daren reads his note privately while I silently read my own.
My sweet Kayla,
As you read this, you are most likely handcuffed to Daren Ackwood. Despite what you may think or assume, Daren is a good soul. If he were anything less, I would not have asked you to lock yourself to his side. Which brings me to why you are here at all. My death.
I love you more than you will ever know, and more than I could ever explain. These last few years being apart from you have been torturous for me. There is so much I’ve wanted to explain. So much I’ve wanted to make up for. I realize my apparent absence from your life has made you skeptical of me, and probably of love as well, but please know that it is not what it seems. My love for you is and will forever be very real. The last five years without you have been pure heartache for me, and I hope you will choose to remember me as the father from the years before, not the one who’s been away from you recently.
Since I didn’t have a chance to say good-bye to you before passing, I’ve written my thoughts on these notes. But more than anything else, I want you to know that you have always been the greatest part of my life—always—and I am amazed and proud of who you are and who you will become.
I encourage you to share this note with Daren. He is one of my favorite people and I trust him beyond measure, as I hope you will, someday, as well.
I love you.